


Rising Like the Smoke (You Linger on Me)

by EmKomSkaikru



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, If you love Danny... don't read this, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmKomSkaikru/pseuds/EmKomSkaikru
Summary: Carmilla sees. She sees everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Use the tags! Also, I definitely stole this title from lyrics to the song "Show Me" by Alina Baraz. Have you really come to expect anything else? Lollll

Carmilla first notices her in the mirror at midnight yoga.

The girl sits in the farthest corner in sleeves and long pants, though they keep it on the warm side in the room to aid bending into difficult positions. Laura-- as Carmilla had heard the instructor call her-- is a tiny, graceful girl with big eyes and a smile to match. She barely ever says anything, but sometimes their eyes idly meet in the mirror and Laura always smiles at her.

Carmilla usually scowls back on principle, but after a few times of this back and forth, she cracks as easily as an egg and smiles (well, mostly smirks) back.

It takes a few sessions of this frequent eye contact and smiling for Carmilla to warm to the idea of introducing herself. This is a nighttime exercise class in Seattle after all; it is a sparse selection mostly of wired students, exhausted night shift workers, and the occasional broody gay vampire. Most of the people are only semi-awake; Carmilla had certainly never intended on being mentally present for her time here. 

But while everyone tends to ignore each other, something about Laura makes Carmilla want to pay attention.

 

“That's a bad bruise you've got there,” Carmilla once mentions while they are in line to refill their water bottles. It's not like good old H2O does much of anything for her, but she enjoys yoga and not invoking human's reaction to her vampricism. Misleading appearances being what they are, she feels compelled to participate in these pointless human niceties.

And it's a good thing she does.

“Oh... yeah,” Laura squeaks, staring at her wrist. She shrugs. “I hit it on my desk.”

Carmilla raises an eyebrow. She is 337 years old, so she knows bullshit when she hears it. Plus, the bruises are in the shape of five fingers clearly gripping a little too hard.

However, she supposes that is strictly Laura's business. “How clumsy,” she retorts.

“Yeah. Clumsy old me,” Laura says, turning back around swiftly to cut off the conversation.

 

Classes are held twice weekly, but after the water fountain incident is when Carmilla decides to keep an informal eye on Laura. She learns several things in her quiet study. The first is that Laura always wears long sleeves and pants, which makes her stick out like a sore spot in a sea of naked skin. The second thing she learns is that a tall gangly redhead drops her off and picks her up every class. But the most interesting thing there is to learn is that Laura _really_ likes cookies.

There are always some sitting on the back table in case of low blood sugar or some similar human emergency, and Laura always (obviously) steals one or two-- while Carmilla watches from a distance with a smirk-- before every yoga class. She does it like it's her dirtiest secret.

Carmilla decides Laura is incredibly cute to watch; the little human yogi with an addiction so passionate for sugar that she feels compelled to commit petty thievery.

 

And then there is the class when Laura comes in crying.

It’s subtle and maybe nobody but Carmilla even looks Laura in the eyes and notices, but as they pass each other to grab a floor mat, Carmilla sees. Fat tears are slipping out of Laura's red-rimmed eyes. Laura wipes them away casually-- quickly, hurriedly-- but the vampire doesn't miss them.

Carmilla strolls over to where Laura usually sprawls her mat out and spread hers out alongside it. She would try to talk to her again, she decides, to see exactly why she's crying. Carmilla can't pinpoint why she even cares, but she decides to roll with the strange impulse.

Laura comes back, lugging her mat as though it’s difficult to carry, and shoots Carmilla a confused, teary look, but doesn't say anything. Carmilla smiles at her.

They do yoga, Carmilla glancing at her here and there, and when it is finally time to go, she catches Laura’s eye and throws her a smirk. 

Laura gives her a tiny smile in return. 

“What's wrong?” Carmilla deadpans.

“What? Nothing,” Laura automatically denies. Carmilla gives her a dry look and Laura sighs, looking away to lifelessly murmur, “Just a disagreement.”

“With Clifford?”

Laura looks utterly confused before she bursts out a mirthful smirk of her own. “You mean Danny?” 

“The redhead that drops you off.”

“Yeah, Danny,” Laura confirms, laughing once before sobering. “My girlfriend. We just had an argument.”

“Ah,” Carmilla replies, feeling strangely pleased (gay) and bothered (girlfriend) simultaneously. “What was the problem?” she probes, distracted at the news.

Laura, apparently caught off-guard by this persistent questioning, widens her eyes.

“Well, I'm an impartial third party,” Carmilla drawls, smiling charmingly. “I might be able to help.”

Laura's eyes dart around nervously. “I don't know. Danny’s sort of a private person, she wouldn't want me to talk about our problems to a stranger..."

Carmilla shrugs easily and begins to roll up her black yoga mat. “I didn't ask _her_ , cupcake."

Laura hums for a moment, narrowing her eyes at Carmilla as if assessing whether she can trust her. “She doesn't like the long hours at my internship,” she admits slowly.

“How long is long?”

“I work 9-5 five days a week.”

“That's pretty standard.”

“I know,” Laura retorts, sullen.

“Seems perfectly reasonable to me.”

Laura nods unsurely and stares at the floor. “I… well-- thanks for… checking on me, but I've got to go now. I'll see you Thursday.”

“See you,” Carmilla murmurs, watching her hurry towards the door with narrowed eyes.

 

Thursday comes, but Laura doesn't.

Laura doesn't show, in fact, for the three next classes.

Carmilla waits (im)patiently.

 

And then, Laura finally does reappear.

“Hi, cupcake,” Carmilla whispers before class, setting up her yoga mat diagonally to her.

Laura turns to look at her and Carmilla frowns, squinting.

Laura looks away.

But it's impossible for Carmilla to miss the giant bruise on the left side of her face. It stretches out like an ink stain, touching her temples and her ears. Carmilla's face freezes, tightens, _seethes_ \-- because someone is hitting this tiny human; someone dares to raise their stupid, violent fist and hurt her.

Carmilla calmly stands to erase the distance between them, and Laura flinches and scrambles back into the wall at the sharp movement. The room is dark and Laura has sat in the back like always (and Carmilla has sat next to her), so no one sees this. But Carmilla observes all this, and pauses, quickly smoothing her face of anger before taking small, measured movements. Laura looks terrified when Carmilla arrives to slowly take her face in a soft hand and tilt it to get a better look at the injury. 

“Is she hitting you?” Carmilla asks in a stern murmur. “Don't lie to me this time.”

“No. No. I-- I just have a lot of accidents. I'm--”

“Clumsy,” Carmilla fills in, and lets her go reluctantly to cross her arms. She can't just scare this girl into the truth; she won't be the one who scares her anymore than she is. “But I've seen you hold impossible yoga positions for minutes at a time. You're not clumsy,” she drawls.

“Just leave it alone, okay?” Laura interrupts frantically. “Please... don't. Don't talk to me.”

“You deserve much better,” Carmilla just says, but then she doesn't say anything else. She goes to her mat and bends into the recommended position like she doesn't know why Laura wears sleeves and winces constantly.

 

In the next class, Laura arrives so late she almost gets locked out and then she sits as far away from Carmilla as is spatially possible. In fact, their yoga positions have reversed polar opposite from what they originally began as; Carmilla sits in the back (anticipating Laura) and Laura sits in the front (anticipating Carmilla). 

Laura doesn't smile at her anymore. 

Carmilla tries to accept this tiny girl’s wishes, but keeps snatching glances of her, eyes roving over her skin in search of bruises. She eventually spots one wrapping around Laura's right ankle like an anchor. 

In the distant past, physical abuse was regular, common, accepted even, but it had never failed to turn Carmilla's stomach in disgust, making her livid and _vengeful_ for those who suffer at the hands of a cruel oppressor.

After all, Carmilla once knew how they felt.

She tries to consider how anyone in their right mind could hit the innocent morsel in front of her and comes away with nothing. There is no excuse period. 

And now, she just needs to convince Laura, the scared little cupcake, of that.

 

The next time they see each other, Carmilla catches Laura in the deserted showers before class. It's a complete accident; she doesn't even realize Laura is in the building when she enters. But as Carmilla moves to a faraway shower to rinse off in preparation for class, she hears sniffling and muffled sobbing. She locates the sound to a darker corner, the curtain of which hangs open a tad. Carmilla isn't trying to be a creep when she spots a familiar little shape huddled up under a warm spray of water, but she can't help it. She goes to her, facing away.

“Laura? Are you okay?” Carmilla whispers. "I've never seen you here before class." 

There's a squeak of surprise, scuffling, and then Laura just sighs as she recognizes the voice. “I already worked out. I'm not going to class,” she deadpans.

"Why not?"

A pause. "Because you'll be there."

Carmilla winces. “Want to tell me why you're crying?” 

“Not when I'm naked.”

Carmilla nods and hears the shower shut off. “Right. Here, have my towel.” Her arm rotates uncomfortably to robotically extend it without looking. 

“Thanks,” Laura sniffs, wrapping it around herself. She dries herself off and dresses in the shower while Carmilla stands by. When she steps out of the shower, her shirt sticks up in the back, which is when Carmilla can finally see all the bruises (she's suspected) on her back. She grabs Laura’s arm gently, holding her still for her hand to instinctively pull up the back of her shirt. 

And maybe Carmilla has no business prying into this mess, but what she exposes sickens her to the core. Laura's back is a mottled mess of color; bruises in all shades and shapes overlapping on her pale skin.

“What are you doing?” Laura begins, angry, when she tries to yank away and Carmilla stills her firmly, assessing an oozing spot on her shoulder that probably needs ointment and possibly medical attention.

“Who does this to you?” Carmilla demands darkly. “Is it the redhead? Your parents?”

“Why does it matter to you?” Laura retorts.

“I can't just stand and watch.”

“So don't,” Laura suggests, eyes blazing. “Look away.”

“Come away with me,” Carmilla counters desperately. “I've got a spare room that's available for you to stay in for however long you need until you figure things out.”

“What?” Laura retorts, eyes touching on Carmilla's lips for a second. “I don't even know you,” she scoffs.

“Why wait? It won't get better,” Carmilla murmurs. “Trust me. It only ever gets worse when it's this bad."

Laura looks away, but her eyes are shining. “You don't understand,” she breathes after a beat. “She would never... she would never just let me _go_.”

“She can't get through me,” Carmilla reassures. “We can leave now out the back door. We can pick up your things whenever she leaves the house. You would never have to so much as see her again.”

Laura hems over that, backing up a little to get some perspective, and considers it.

“I have no money,” Laura says honestly. “My internship doesn't pay. I have nothing here. No family, no friends that aren't _our_ friends, no life that doesn't include or involve her in it somehow.”

“It doesn't matter. We’ll figure it out.”

“I can't,” Laura, eyes closing in defeat, argues. “She would hurt you. She wasn't always like this, but she got mugged and they… turned her-- like into an actual vampire. And ever since then, she's just been really _angry_... and bitter. But she isn't going to kill me, I know that, I trust her--”

“I'm a vampire, too,” Carmilla drawls, taking in the way Laura freezes like she's really screwed up. “And don't get me wrong, I'm not perfect, but I've _never_ once beat someone like that and let them live to feel the pain.”

Carmilla has killed, true, out of necessity and sometimes sport, but always with humility-- though Laura doesn't need to know that. She's already shrinking back at the additional information as though she's terrified.

Carmilla pulls back and very gently states, “A slow death is still a death. Do you understand what I'm saying?” 

Laura inhales abruptly, deeply, and sags against the rig of another shower. “You could really protect me?” she counters quietly.

“Yes,” Carmilla promises. “She's a new vampire. I'm several centuries old. I'm much stronger than her.”

“But you honestly don't understand,” Laura murmurs dejectedly. “She's... obsessed with me.”

“I'll deal with that. You don't need to worry about it, alright? Just come with me now.”

“Now?” Laura asks, tone high and anxious.

“There’ll never be a best time,” Carmilla coaxes. She hasn't talked this sweetly, this tentatively, to a human in several decades. “But right now works well.”

“We just walk away right now?” Laura questions, squinting and frowning like she can't quite envision it.

“Yes. We walk away, get into my car, and drive. We can figure out a good time to get your things later.”

Laura's lower lips trembles. “And I wouldn't have to see her?” she clarifies shakily.

“No,” Carmilla vows. “You won't.”

“I'll have to leave my phone or destroy it. She pays for it,” Laura says, pausing. “And she put a tracker on it, so she knows where I am.”

“Let me see it,” Carmilla deadpans.

Laura digs in her pocket and hesitantly hands it to Carmilla. There's a number of unread texts on it, Carmilla notes, before she crunchs it up until it's a little metal cube that she then proceeds to swiftly toss into the trash can on the opposite side of the room.

“Done,” she drawls.

“How do I know you won't do the same things as her?” Laura whispers, looking from the trash can to Carmilla and back again. “You're a vampire. I could be running away to... another freaking nightmare.”

“You have my word,” Carmilla says, leaning down to look Laura in the face. “I would never... I will _never_ hurt you. Out of all the things I've said, you should believe that the most,” she admits.

“Why?” Laura asks. “Why would you…”

“I've been in your situation before,” Carmilla interrupts, fist unconsciously tightening at the recollection. “I know what it feels like to be powerless. When I was just beginning my life as a vampire, my sire controlled me. She beat me-- left me black and blue and starving. But with the help of my sister, I killed her and escaped my living, breathing hell. I know it feels impossible at the moment, but you can too."

“Oh,” Laura breathes. “I'm sorry, Carmilla--”

Carmilla's heart throbs at her concern, but she isn't the one that needs saving. "It's ancient news. Will you? Come with me,” Carmilla clarifies. “Laura-- please.”

“I… I don't know. We have ten minutes until she shows up,” Laura notes, looking at the clock on the wall in dread. 

Carmilla smiles and grabs her hand. “Now. We’ll go now.”

“Now? Holy Hufflepuff,” Laura breathes.

Carmilla laughs, trying to distract Laura as she leads her to the back of the fitness center. “Is that your house? Hufflepuff?" she questions.

“Yeah. You've read Harry Potter?”

“I've read about everything culturally relevant.”

“Oh. Nice. What house are you?”

“Slytherin, I think,” Carmilla admits with a smirk. “Although I hate the Death Eater part. It's a little too close to being a vampire at times in my opinion."

“Oh, god,” Laura says, turning visibly paler as she stares through the back windows of their fitness center into the parking lot. “Danny's early. That's her in the Jeep out there. She never parks in the back.”

Carmilla turns to look, but Danny-- red-haired and narrow-eyed-- seems to have heard Laura's voice and sits up, looking right at them. Danny smiles. Carmilla resists the urge to bust through the glass like a badass on a mission and break her deceptive fucking face.

“Thanks for helping me try to find my phone,” Laura says neutrally, disentangling their hands.

Carmilla hasn't even really registered they were holding hands. She glances at her useless (still warm) hand for a moment and then she stares, comprehending, at Laura. “No, no, no, don't…” she rasps gravely, swallowing her confusion. “We can still find your phone...” she whispers.

Laura's eyes seem to sadden, to scream the opposite of what she says, which is: "I think it's too late for my phone, Carmilla, but thanks for caring. I'll see you at the next class.”

Carmilla tracks Laura with panic-stricken eyes as she walks away. She watches Laura open the car door, climb in, and kiss the redhead right on the mouth.

She watches them drive away and wonders if it'll be the last time she ever sees the tiny yogi alive.

 

But it's not the last time. 

The next class, Laura is back with a fancy new phone and earphones. Carmilla sits next to her, but she is ignored; Laura wears the earphones during the entire yoga session. When it is time to roll the mats back up and shower, Carmilla stalls, bumps into Laura.

“Laura,” Carmilla says casually.

But Laura still has her headphones in.

Carmilla grimaces, stealthily follows Laura to a dusty corner of the gym locker room that is practically deserted this time of the night.

She pulls her headphones out.

Laura turns to stare at her indignantly.

“What?” Laura all but spits.

“Show me your back,” Carmilla demands.

Laura tilts her head like she can't believe her audacity. “What purpose would that serve?”

“I can heal some of the worse wounds.”

Laura's eyes crumple into something soft. “How?"

"Vampire blood can cure humans."

"Oh... but-- she would know.”

“How?”

Laura shrugs, but her eyes are fearful. “She’d smell it or… or I don't know, but she would know.”

“Take a shower afterwards,” Carmilla suggests. “It would wash the scent of me off." She glances at Laura wearily to ask, "Did she see us holding hands?" 

"No, thank god," Laura replies quickly before she narrows her eyes in suspicion. “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why can't you leave me alone?” Laura whispers, sagging against the locker.

Carmilla’s rough (brave) facade drops abruptly and she shrugs self-consciously. 

Laura watches her for a second before she replies, “Fine, but it has to be fast. Can we do it in a shower?” The girl flushes. “To have some privacy, I mean,” Laura clarifies.

Quickly, Carmilla nods. She may have said something suggestive in another life, but she wouldn't dare now. She finds herself leading Laura to the row of empty showers and picking one at random. They slip into the enclosed space and Laura wastes no time.

“Just do the worst ones please,” Laura says, pulling her shirt off. She's wearing a purple lace bra that she doesn't take off.

Carmilla just stares. Her back is actually much worse than when she saw it last and she's much too skinny; she can see every notch of Laura's spine. 

“What does she use to…?”

“A belt, mostly,” Laura whispers, crossing her arms. “Sometimes just her hands and nails. To be honest… I prefer the former.”

Carmilla bites her finger savagely to prevent herself from having an unnecessary emotional response. The jagged wound spurts blood, which she carefully covers most of Laura's back in.

Laura winces continually and when Carmilla touches a particularly ragged wound, she reaches out to hold onto the tile in front of her. A long, tense moment plays out between them, but by the time the blood dries in the air, the open wounds have closed and some of the bruising has even faded. Carmilla can look at her back and just barely stomach the marks present.

“I wish you would let me heal everywhere,” Carmilla says, voice a touch desperate.

“Thank you for what you did do,” Laura murmurs, glancing over her shoulder for a moment. “It doesn't hurt as much anymore.”

“Good. Can I give you my number?”

Laura turns around in shock.

“Not romantically,” Carmilla clarifies, smirking. “Just a number to call if you find yourself needing someone.”

Laura looks at the ground and seems almost angry. “It's not a good idea, Carmilla.”

“But you do have someone to call if something happens?”

“...No,” Laura bites out.

Carmilla steps outside the shower to rip a small poster off the wall. She gets into her black yoga bag to fetch a pen and writes her number in very careful (small) print along the bottom. “If she sees it, you can say it's the instructor's number or something,” she says.

Laura smiles at her. 

“Take care of yourself,” Carmilla reminds her. “Call me if you need something... or if you're ready...” 

“I will,” Laura replies.

But Carmilla knows that Laura will likely never use the number. She's too independent.

It's what will kill her. She's seen it before. 

“I'll come see you at the next class,” Laura informs her. She still has her shirt off. “But I need to get dressed and go now.”

“Right, cupcake,” Carmilla says. She tries to take one last mental picture of Laura standing there-- so tiny, bright and brilliant, someone she wants to protect with all of herself. She steps out of the space with a frown and yanks the shower curtain shut for her privacy.

 

The next class comes, and Laura doesn't.

Carmilla isn't surprised.

She's scared shitless, but she isn't surprised.

 

Carmilla’s drinking blood out of a blood bag at 2 am the following Wednesday when she gets a phone call from an unknown number. She almost doesn't answer, pissed off as usual and elusive, but does.

“What?” she asks.

“...Carmilla?”

“Cupcake?" Carmilla says, voice breaking into something incredibly gentle. "What's wrong?”

A sob erupts on Laura's end.

Carmilla throws the empty bag to the floor in alarm. “Where are you? I'll come get you.”

“I'm in the Pizza Hut parking lot.”

Carmilla races to the door. “By yourself?”

“Yes,” Laura rasps. 

“Tell me what happened,” Carmilla demands.

“She looked like she was going to kill me,” Laura breathes. “I was so scared she would.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I'm bleeding... but okay.”

Carmilla grinds her teeth, tosses the phone back into the house, and apparates to the Pizza Hut instantly. It takes her a frantic second to locate the figure loitering in the grass behind the putrid overfilled dumpster.

“Laura?”

“Carmilla? Jeez, that was fast,” Laura replies.

Carmilla gets closer and see Laura has a split lip. She has a split lip and a swollen eye.

“I'll kill her,” Carmilla hisses, feet pounding into the earth as she marches to Laura.

“Don't,” Laura says, eyes flickering all over her face with real alarm. “Please don't…”

“I won't,” Carmilla promises, sobering when Laura flinches as she rests her fingers on the girl’s wrist. “But will you come with me now? Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Laura says after a long hesitation.

Carmilla grabs her (gently) before she can change her mind and poofs them away from the horrid stench of the neighborhood Pizza Hut dumpster.

 

“That’s an odd feeling. Made me dizzy,” Laura says, leaning against Carmilla.

Carmilla picks her up-- and she knows Laura must ache when she doesn't even so much as protest-- and carries her straight to the bath and deposits her gently onto the edge. The frowning vampire reaches over to start the bath and then rifles under the counter to locate some Epsom salt to add to the water.

“Take off your clothes, pumpkin,” Carmilla instructs, sprinkling it in. “I need to heal you.”

Laura-- who is wet from the drizzling outside and shaking and likely just very cold-- sits on the edge of the bath, blinking. She's in shock, Carmilla thinks.

“She fed on me," Laura says after a long moment of silence. "On my...” She looks down.

“Where?” Carmilla asks, stilling.

“My thighs.” Laura sniffs. “They hurt.”

"I'll fix you up," Carmilla rasps, barely managing to hold onto her own words for strength. In a desperate (insane) gesture of goodwill, she gets into the bath with all her clothes on. The water is still running (it's a huge Victorian bathtub that takes awhile to fill), but she leans back against the warmed tile and holds her arms out for Laura. She's never been quite so open and vulnerable to someone in her life as she is wet (yet clothed) with her arms out to this girl. Please, Carmilla thinks, let me.

“Come here,” she croons.

To her surprise, Laura takes off her shoes (and none of her clothes) and climbs into the bathtub carefully to settle stiffly against her. Carmilla rubs her shivering arms.

“The salt stings,” Laura notes.

“It cleans. Can I take your shirt off?” Carmilla asks formally. “To examine your back.”

Laura nods and lifts her arms like it pains her, which it probably does. Carmilla slides her shirt off as gently and clinically as possible.

“Oh, creampuff,” Carmilla drawls. There are fresh red marks crisscrossing her back. “Please tell me you're not going back to her,” she adds under her breath.

“I don't think so...”

“Grand. Will you let me see your thighs?”

Laura looks away, and Carmilla sighs.

“Please? Just to check,” she reiterates.

Laura relents and has to briefly stand up out of the water to pull her soggy pants off. Carmilla takes one look, and she is no virgin to blood or beatings or even torture, which her thighs frankly look closer to, but she doesn't want to comprehend this level of cruelty.

“Sit down,” Carmilla says softly.

Laura settles back against her, small and shaking, and Carmilla calmly opens a vein on her own arm. She offers it to the shocked girl.

“It might taste a bit… gross to you, but it'll heal everything," Carmilla says. "There's a lot of-- just drink it.”

Laura looks at her bloody wrist in disgust, which stings a little but is perfectly understandable, and then just looks tired. She takes it hesitantly, unsurely, and laps at it once. She scrunches her nose in clear dislike of the flavor, but takes a few more laps anyway.

“Is that enough?” Laura murmurs, wiping blood off her cheek with the back of her hand.

“It should be I believe,” Carmilla says, licking her wound shut. “We’ll soon see.”

Laura makes a small sound and relaxes.

“You’ll stay with me from now on. I'll go get your things tomorrow. Alone.”

Carmilla thinks she might rip the ginger from end to end and she doesn't want Laura to see that.

Laura exhales. “Alright.”

“Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” Carmilla drawls. 

Laura shrugs. “Sure. That sounds nice.”

So, Carmilla Karnstein washes the tiny human's hair with strawberry shampoo. By the time she rinses the soap out of Laura's hair, the black eye is nearly gone and her lip is slowly knitting itself back together. Her back is still a bit of a mess, but the open wounds are closed and the bruising is greatly reduced.

“You made the right decision,” Carmilla says when she hands Laura an actual bar of soap to wash with.

Carmilla scoots Laura forward and gets out of the bath. Determining correctly that Laura needs a moment of privacy, she uses her vampire speed to whip her dripping clothes off, flinging them over the top of the shower, before running to retrieve more, her nakedness an unseeable blur. 

She paces the hallway while Laura finishes. 

After the bath, Laura is so weak and tired that they end up making a quick detour to the kitchen for cocoa, but then Carmilla essentially tucks her into the guest bed, which thankfully by a stretch of foresight has sheets and a comforter on it. Carmilla lingers, but Laura is asleep in seconds.

Sleep doesn't come as easily to Carmilla, though she wouldn't normally at this time of the night anyhow. She continues to pace around the house like a large caged cat, thinking of bruises, puncture wounds, and how to plot the perfect _murder_.


End file.
